


All The Strangeness Of Fate

by HalfshellVenus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 04:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/pseuds/HalfshellVenus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam needs everything Dean has to give. How far is Dean willing to go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Strangeness Of Fate

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monotonygirl](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=monotonygirl).



> Season 2 timeframe, but before the angst-arc of the finale.

x-x-x-x-x  
  
Looking back, you'd think the moment would have been obvious—the choice that nearly destroyed them both.

But it wasn't. Sometimes a thing is not so much a single instant or decision, but a slow slide down into a place that wasn't even visible from where you first began.

*

"My turn," Dean said as they approached the house. A leggy brunette in a slip dress stood on the porch, hugging her chest against the wind.

"Your turn for what?" Sam fell in behind Dean's shoulder. "Asking all the questions?"

"Scoring the phone number and anything else," Dean said out the side of his mouth.

He could feel Sam's glare rather than see it. "Fine. Kind of lost my taste for it right now." Madison's name hung heavy in the air between them, silent and accusing.

"Yeah. Sorry."

The woman straightened up and moved to the center of the stairs just as Dean was about to start climbing them. "We're closed," she said, "indefinitely."

"We're not here to get our fortunes told." Dean took in her dark, wavy hair and nearly black eyes, his gaze resting briefly on full lips that turned up slightly at the corners in spite of the expression on the woman's face.

"Miss Maizy passed on two days ago," the woman insisted.

"We know," Sam stepped into the stalemate. "That's actually why we're here. Mind if we come inside?"

The entry hall was dark and formal, with large potted palms and twin gold vases beneath a gilt-edged mirror. A door with a painting mounted on it led to what was probably the parlor and place of business. The picture was turned around backwards.

"Come on into the kitchen," the woman said. "My name is Natalie. I'm the one who's going to have to tie up all the loose ends around here. Maizy didn't have anyone else."

She went over to the oven and peered inside, taking up potholders to remove a tray from the upper shelf. It was covered with what looked like large dried-up leaves. "You want some coffee?"

"No, but thank you." Dean had found his voice again. "Do you know how long Miss Maizy had been telling fortunes?"

"Eight years," Natalie answered, "the last five of them here in town."

"And before that?"

"Someplace back east, she told me once. Why? Are you inspecting her qualifications? Can't imagine anyone trying to regulate such a thing."

"No, ma'am," Sam put in. "Just trying to get an idea of how experienced she was at this sort of thing. We'd heard there were some odd circumstances surrounding her death."

"Such as?" The woman's eyebrow disappeared into her hair.

"Like she might have brought something across from the other side that she wasn't prepared to deal with," Dean said, and there was Sam giving him that _look_ like he always did. Geez, but that got old.

"I wouldn't know about that," Natalie said. "The doctor said it was a heart attack."

Still, she didn't look at them like they were crazy. In fact, she smiled at Dean and dropped her eyes, the way he'd been hoping a woman would do for the last three weeks.

He knew he'd be coming back later that night.

*

"She likes me, Sam."

"Woman usually do," Sam said without interest.

"I was hoping she'd tell us a little more about Maizy Wells, though." Dean loaded 'Houses of the Holy' into the cassette deck and pulled back onto the street. "Don't want to come all this way for a dead end."

"We'll find something." Sam looked through the notes he'd scribbled down from Bobby. "One of her regulars lives pretty close by. Keep an eye out for Poplar Street."

Eugenie Dalheim seemed more flustered than pleased to see them, and she had little to offer. Maizy hadn't mentioned anything unusual, she said, though she'd cancelled their appointment last Wednesday. Sam and Dean thanked her, and crossed her off the list.

Next was the herbalist, whose store had supplied the fortuneteller with some of her basics. She mentioned that Maizy had started taking digitalis three months ago for chest pains. Wouldn't hurt Dean to cut down on the fatty foods, she added, and smiled at Sam like he was the best little boy ever. It was seriously damn annoying.

"I'm starting to have doubts," Sam said as they left. "What if it was just heart trouble after all?"

"Then we drove two states out of our way for nothing," Dean grumbled.

They grabbed a couple of sandwiches from the supermarket deli, and checked into the Markston Street Inn. Sam turned on the television while Dean brushed his teeth and changed his shirt.

"Don't wait up," Dean said, putting his jacket on and grabbing the car keys.

"Don't get herpes," Sam shot back stonily, not meeting Dean's eyes.

_Sammy needs to get laid more often,_ Dean thought. _Maybe next town, 'cause tonight's all mine and I've waited too damn long as it is..._

The drive back to Maizy Wells' house was filled with loose, black-lace fantasies. When Dean pulled up to the house, Natalie was sitting on the porch swing like she already knew he was coming.

*

"Can you think of anything more we should be looking at?" Sam asked the next morning. "Because I'm thinking we're just about through here—and we can't break into the house and take a look around so long as that other woman's there."

"Natalie," Dean said. "Her name is Natalie. And I tried to get into the parlor last night after we were, uh, done and she fell asleep. But she came downstairs while I was jimmying the lock. Kind of pissed her off, come to think of it."

"No kidding," Sam said. "She probably wondered if you had some ulterior motive for sleeping with her, other than your usual looking-to-get-laid—which any woman should be able to spot within the first five minutes."

"I'm not sure she actually caught that part," Dean admitted. "She wanted to know how long we were going to be in town, and I told her we'd probably be gone tonight. Should have seen her face…"

"Maybe you should have told her that up front."

"And ruin the moment? It's not like I ever said we were moving in here. She knew we were from out of town."

"Just… whatever, Dean. It's not what I would do— not my style."

"Nothing ever is."

They made a stop at the coroner's office, so Dean could take a clipboard and fake out a delivery at the rear entrance while Sam snuck into the filing cabinets to look up the autopsy results on Maizy Wells.

"So?" Dean asked, when they met up back at the car.

"Heart failure. Arterial blockage and pulmonary edema," Sam monotoned.

"Aw, geez. Should have gone after that 'fairy lights' phenomenon down in Winston-Salem."

Sam sighed. "Might as well head there now."

*

'Fairy lights' sound like something pretty and harmless, even mystical. The other name, 'corpse candles,' is as sinister as the force behind the phenomenon.

"Dean!" Sam was calling from the other side of a thick, black fog. "Dean—are you all right?"

"Whuh." Dean's voice was disconnected from his body. "Mzzzuhbuhhh." His tongue was slow and sluggish.

"Dean." Sam was closer now, his hands holding the sides of Dean's face, turning it gently this way and that. "Anything broken?"

Dean felt too lousy to tell. Fingers surveyed his arms and legs, pressing across his middle and checking for discomfort.

"Dean?" Sam said again.

"…happened?" Dean croaked out, his throat like broken glass.

"One of those lights touched you and hurled you halfway across the clearing. You were out for a couple of minutes."

"Uhhhh…" So that's why his head felt like it was splitting open. "Hurts," he muttered faintly.

Sam brushed his forehead, which—no, must be the dizziness. Sam never touched him like that, never comforted or soothed. "I know," Sam said, his hand cupping Dean's face briefly, and then Dean was even more confused than before.

The world shifted—a brutal burst of vertigo and pain—as Sam hauled Dean to his feet and urged him over, over in endless steps that finally finished at the car. The door creaked, and Dean was helped onto the seat, legs eased in behind him before the door shut. Sam got in the driver's side and fired up the engine. The car lurched as it started to move, tipping Dean over to sprawl on the seat as his head thunked gracelessly into Sam's lap.

"Nhhhhh…," he groaned, fisting his hands uselessly against the seat as every bounce threatened to dump him onto the floor.

"I'm hurrying," Sam told him, squeezing Dean's shoulder and threading his hand through Dean's hair.

_I'm either asleep,_ Dean thought, _or I am seriously losing my mind…_

*

Sam maneuvered Dean into the motel room and onto the bed, peering anxiously into his face. "Maybe we should have gone to a doctor."

"For Christ's sake, Sam, I'm all right! Seriously! Just a little headache is all, and I’m kind of tired." The words pounded inside Dean's skull, which totally felt like shit but he'd had so much worse, so many times before. This would pass, like it always did.

"Just want to be sure," Sam said. He went into the bathroom and returned with a wet washcloth and some Motrin. "Here," he said, working Dean's flask free from his jacket and handing him the pills. He watched expectantly until Dean had gotten the pills down, and then wiped Dean's forehead softly with the washcloth.

"Sammy—"

"Shhhhh…"

It felt too good for Dean to bother protesting for long, the pressure in his head dropping down slowly until he went to sleep.

Pressure on his sore shoulder woke him awhile later, sometime during the night. The room was still dark. Dean tried to shift into a better position, only to find himself half-trapped under Sam. Jesus, but Sammy'd gotten heavy.

"Sam," Dean whispered urgently. "Sammy!"

"Huh."

"What're you doing here? This is _my_ bed." Dean wriggled a little for emphasis.

"Was worried something would happen to you, so I slept here." Sam yawned and patted Dean's arm. "Shut up and go back to sleep."

"You're hurting me."

"Sorry." Sam moved over slightly and sank heavily back into the mattress, breathing deeply.

"Jesus," Dean sighed. Sam's hand was still locked onto his arm.

*

At first, Sam claimed that it was nightmares about Dean dying. But after a week of Sam climbing into his bed in the middle of the night, Dean stopped asking. He'd been Sam's security blanket for so many years when they were kids, never grudging it. In a strange way, this had the feeling of returning home…

It only took three more days before Sam finally just got in next to Dean right from the get-go, settling down beside him and turning off the light. Dean would lie awake listening to Sam's breathing slow into sleep, easy like it hadn't been for a long, long time.

The daytime was harder—weirder suddenly, because Dean could hardly leave Sam's sonar range before his brother would come around the corner looking for him.

"What?" Dean would ask.

"Nothing." But Sam would stay right where he was, nearly shadowing Dean throughout the day.

"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" Dean had asked once.

"I know," Sam had answered. "I just feel better when I know where you are."

One night, Dean woke up to Sam curled around him, his forehead pressed into the back of Dean's neck. _I should do something about all this,_ Dean thought. But he didn't. He hadn't felt so peaceful or honestly _content_ in probably more than ten years.

The next night was no different.

Before long, Sam was practically hanging all over Dean twenty-four/seven. A hand on Dean's shoulder, on his leg—or just looming in Dean's space. Dean could hardly turn around anymore without tripping over him.

"What's wrong, Sam?" he asked finally.

"Me? Nothing's wrong."

"Then how come you're so affectionate all of a sudden?" Dean asked, and then cursed himself silently. Because the truth was he'd grown used to it, and actually kind of liked it. So long as Sam didn't embarrass him in public or anything, he was okay with it.

"You're always telling me I don't appreciate you enough," Sam said uneasily. "This is me doing that."

"Okay," Dean answered slowly. There might be more to it than that, because this was definitely new for Sam. But Dean had already lost the ability to want to step back and look at this any harder.

It was in Arlington Heights that Dean finally realized he might have let things go too far. They'd split up like a thousand times before, Dean talking to the victim's neighbors while Sam did research at the library. But when Dean got back to the car an hour later, Sam was already waiting inside.

"How'd you get here?" Dean asked. "Did you walk? Is something wrong?"

"Need you, Dean," Sam pleaded, in a voice Dean had never heard him use before.

"I'm right here," he answered, but then Sam was kissing him and Dean's head was spinning with _What_ — and _Please, Sammy_ and then _Oh, god..._

They were both so totally fucked.

*

Dean had broken off the kiss almost immediately, because doing that with your brother was unquestionably wrong.

But it didn't stop him from remembering how perfect it had felt, how Sam had tasted like sunshine and red licorice and felt like slick velvet sweetness against his mouth.

_God._

The next night, Sam pushed into the bathroom while Dean was washing his face and backed him up against the sink, his mouth covering Dean’s in a long, passionate kiss.

"Sammy—" Dean pulled loose, breathless with the distraction of the tingling in his lips—"what the hell's gotten into you? What're you doing?"

"Feel's like my skin's on fire Dean. Gotta kiss you, _be_ with you, to make it stop," Sam said desperately. And then he was kissing Dean all over again.

It was like drowning in the most vivid, perfect dream, drifting with the current. Dean forgot to think, forgot to protest, and just let it happen for the longest, most blissful time. But Sam's hand sliding up under the bottom of Dean's shirt to touch his skin brought him back to reality. He could tell he'd already been gone too long.

"That's… that's enough for now." Dean stepped back out of Sam's arms and stumbled out into the main room, gulping in the stale, dust-laden air.

"I feel better." Sam was close behind him, nearly touching but not demanding anything more for the moment. "Thank you, Dean."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, rubbing his hands over his arms to quiet the goosebumps there. "You're welcome," he finished faintly.

He should have known their situation would only get worse.

The next day, they were interviewing the victim of a haunting and Sam kept edging closer and closer until he was practically in Dean's lap. They finished up their questions and nearly bolted for the car, driving off around the corner and out of sight while Sam leaned so heavily against Dean that he could hardly steer.

"Can't you keep it together for, like, an hour?" Dean asked, once Sam released him from a kiss that left Dean shaken and Sam relieved.

"I never know when it's going to hit Dean, but that was too long in there. It was killing me."

"But you can't be manhandling me in public like that, Sammy." Dean wondered how they'd gotten to the point where that even seemed like a reasonable thing to say.

"You got a better idea?" Sam asked.

There wasn't a lot of "better" in this situation, but by morning Dean had a new solution that at least offered them a little privacy.

"We're meeting Father Simmons in fifteen minutes," Dean started, "so… how about we get the inevitable out of the way?" His stomach was seven kinds of nervous because the whole thing just felt wrong, inviting Sam to do this in the first place.

"Get what out of the way?" Sam's hand was on Dean's arm already.

"Kiss me now, get it out of your system so it doesn't ambush us later while we're talking to him," Dean said quickly.

"Okay," Sam answered readily.

The way he pulled Dean close and kissed him breathless was just damn _eager,_ his tongue seeking Dean's openly now and sweeping across it in waves.

"I—I—whoa, Sammy, don't you think that's enough?"

"I don't know—do you want to take the chance?"

Sam already knew the answer to that one. By the time they were finished, Dean was throbbing against his jeans and his lips were raw. Fine way to meet a priest.

"You know this is some kind of curse, right Sammy?" Dean said finally. He couldn't look at Sam, afraid of what he'd see or what Sam would see in him.

"Probably," Sam admitted. "But it's not all bad. I haven't felt this close to you in a really long time…"

Dean never had any answers to the things that were actually true.

*

Cuddling up with Sam watching television in the evenings wasn't so bad, Dean reasoned, his fingers slipping lazily through Sam's hair. Kind of relaxing, and cheaper than going to bars.

Not that he could even consider that possibility anymore…

The kissing parts were kind of like walking a tightrope, but at least he had never let things go too far. Small consolation.

It didn't help to know that he was fighting to keep himself in check now as much as Sam—closer to the edge every time they started, his body burning with the desire to just take _everything_ and damn the consequences. He'd find himself daydreaming about the next time Sam needed him that badly. Then remorse would come, and Dean would grow more determined than ever to remove the curse before they crossed a line that could not be undone.

He had racked his brains again and again for what might have caused this, who they might have pissed off—and any possible ways of ending it. Nothing, three solid weeks of nothing and options were scarce—libraries and legends, or the slightest chance of pure dumb luck.

He sure as hell wasn't calling Bobby for help on this one…

"Dean," Sam said sleepily, "let's go to bed. Lots of driving tomorrow."

"Yeah," Dean sighed out slowly. Life was full of running around these days but never finding what they needed.

After they brushed their teeth and stripped down to their underwear, they got under the covers and settled in. Sam draped himself across Dean, his head in its usual position between Dean's neck and shoulder. Only a few weeks since it all started, and Dean was so used to having Sam there that his skin would tingle with waiting on the nights he got into bed first.

"You know I don't really care if we ever lift this curse, don't you Dean?" Sam asked, his voice low-pitched and soothing beneath Dean's ear. "Because I don't mind this at all. Seriously. I don't feel lonely anymore, the way I used to after Jess."

_Me either,_ Dean thought, but all he said was, "Good Sammy. I'm glad."

"I mean it," Sam insisted.

"Okay," Dean said half-heartedly. Sam had all the right words, but Dean was too afraid to even crack open the door on letting himself hope. Curses had a way of making their victims forget how they were supposed to really feel.

"Good night," Sam whispered, shifting up and giving Dean an unexpected kiss, something that was 'just because' and not out of need. Something offered instead of taken.

"Good night," Dean answered shakily. His heart burned inside his chest like it was glowing, too large and fierce to be contained.

*

Driving took longer when they had to pull over twice as often. Even with a hand on Dean's leg or squeezed up next to him, after a few hours Sam still needed more. They couldn't exactly make out at gas stations, and the rest stops had to be deserted unless they wanted to find themselves on the receiving end of a homophobic brawl.

"You know I hate being in the car forever," Sam announced outside Sumter.

"Yeah. So?"

"So maybe you'll buy me ice cream later." Sam's voice was hopeful.

_I probably will,_ Dean thought, remembering all the times he'd done it when they were kids and gotten into trouble for it. Dad had had his rules, but Dad had been gone a lot, and he wasn't the one who'd had to look at Sam's sad puppy eyes all those afternoons. Dean had figured then that the occasional ice cream treat was more than fair considering all the bigger parts of life Sam wanted that weren't ever going to have any sway over Dad's plans.

"How're you doing otherwise?" Dean said out loud.

"I'm good for awhile," Sam said easily, though his hand never left Dean's leg. "I want to try out that rowan stake idea on the Qlatlapata, though—try to pin the spirit."

"So long as we're still ready with the usual, in case that doesn't work."

In Savannah, they stopped in an alleyway to settle Sam down before splitting up for errands. Sam slid over and fastened himself onto Dean, hands and lips drawing in the strength he needed. Before long his touch became more insistent, his mouth slanting across his brother's as he sought something too far inside Dean to reach. "Mmmmm…" Sam moaned, his tongue stroking in further, all sensuality and temptation.

Dean melted under the assault, letting Sam plunder his mouth, his hair, his skin. An answering groan rose in his throat, jolting him back to his senses. "Sammy—" he gasped, breaking away and trying to catch his breath.

"Right here," Sam replied, his voice coated in sin. Damned if he wasn't teasing Dean with all this, winding him up just to see if he could.

And hell yes— Dean was so wound up then that his heart was hammering in his chest and his jeans were cutting off his circulation. _Shouldn't be so easy,_ he thought, and yet it was—every time he just wanted _more_.

Well, fuck.

"Gotta get moving, Sam," he kept on, like he wasn't ten kinds of distracted. "I'll be back in front of the store for you in half an hour."

*

Dean hoped Sam was having better luck at the herbalist's, because the closest hardware store was a Home Depot that was bigger than his sophomore-year high school, and it took him ten minutes just to find propane and _rope_.

But when he got back to Sleator Street, Sam wasn't ready yet. Dean turned on the radio, found an oldies station and settled in to wait. Five songs later, Sam still hadn't shown. Dean locked up the car and went into the shop to see what was keeping him.

The air was warm and still inside the store, heavy with the lingering smell of smoke.

"Sammy?" Dean called softly. The front room appeared empty, and the silence made the hairs stand up on the back of Dean's neck.

He walked slowly toward the main counter, looking down the aisles and listening carefully. There was no sign of anyone other than him, but he still kept his hand on the hilt of his knife.

On the floor next to a charred spot on the carpet was a piece of paper. Dean's stomach turned to lead as he reached down to pick it up.

_Flax seed. Angelica root. Feverfew. Yarrow._

Dean's hand jerked, letting the paper flutter back to the ground. The handwriting on it was Sam's.

A dozen possibilities ran through his head, none of them good. He went behind the counter and looked around, then made his way into the back room. There was a bathroom, an alcove with a bed, and walls of shelves and storage.

On the bed was a glittering flash of green.

Dean moved to it quickly, pulling out a flashlight for a better view. He poked it with a pen to turn it, but unbelievably it was still what he'd first thought.

A scale.

_Crap_.

This must be one of the older demons—and wasn't that just perfect, sending Sam off on his own right into its lair?

Fuck.

_Think,_ Dean told himself, turning in circles and scanning the store again.

Looked like the demon took Sam somewhere—the kind of place where Dean couldn't follow. But maybe he didn't have to approach it that way. What if he just focused on bringing them _back?_

He went back out to the car quickly, unloading weapons and supplies from the trunk and stuffing them in his jacket. In the shop, he set things out on the counter next to the charred section of the floor and got to work. Wards and symbols on his own skin for protection, smoke and sigils in the air. Dean had Holy water and a knife with a silver blade ready when he opened his father's journal and began the incantation.

_"Ziratiel suratet ahladi…"_

He struggled to pronounce the ancient words—pure vowels were the best bet, his father had always said, when you were dealing with an unfamiliar language. Smoke gathered and swirled in front of him, moving with a life of its own as the air pressure swelled up so rapidly that it made Dean's ears pop.

_Oh god—_

In front of him was a large, winged demon that held Sam by the neck, its red eyes turned toward Dean in fury.

"Christo!"

He threw the Holy Water at it, watched Sam slump to the ground as the demon howled in pain. "Rrrgghhh!"

Sam was paler than Dean had ever seen him, his eyes blinking in slow misery. Dean drew in a sharp breath, but there was no time to deal with that just yet. He had to take advantage of the opening he'd made for himself.

Grabbing the knife, he lunged forward and sliced the demon across the throat. _"In nomine Patris, et Filli, et Spiritus Sancti."_

The demon pitched forward, tumbling face first on the floor. Dean sprinkled sage across it for good measure, and the flesh bubbled and dissolved until no recognizable form was left.

"Sam!" He dropped down to the ground, lifting Sam and shaking him until Sam's eyes opened again.

"Dean!" Sam gasped, clutching his shoulders. "I need—"

"Hello?"

_Fuck—_ Dean realized he'd forgotten to lock the front door.

"Zardo, you in here man?"

A couple of slacker kids came into the shop, as Dean struggled to get Sam to stand up.

"Need you, Dean, need you, need you, need you—" Sam muttered desperately as he sought Dean's lips with his own. Dean moved his head around to the side, mouth out of reach as he whispered, "Not here, Sammy, not yet, just wait—wait!"

"Where's Zardo?" the one kid asked, looking at Dean and Sam strangely.

"What's that smell?" the other added.

"Haven't seen anyone," Dean said, grunting with the effort of pulling Sam up. "My brother's not feeling well—need to get him to the bathroom." He hustled Sam awkwardly into the back, hoping the kids didn't notice Sam's mouth pressing hungrily against his neck.

Pushing Sam into the bathroom, he yanked the door shut and locked the two of them in.

"You took so _long,_ " Sam complained, diving onto Dean's mouth like a starving man.

"Barely an hour, Sammy," Dean protested.

"Days," Sam insisted, "it was _days_ in that fucking hell-world, and I needed you so bad and you weren't there." He gripped Dean's head hard as he stroked his tongue in all the way to the back, and Dean just stood there and took it knowing what even a few hours did to Sam in their own world's time.

"Not enough," Sam broke off in anguish. "I need more of you, gotta have _more._ " He dropped to his knees and opened Dean's pants roughly, yanking him out and closing his whole mouth around Dean's cock. Dean's back went rigid with shock, but then Sam moaned around his skin and Dean was instantly, achingly hard.

_Oh no…_

Dean tried to remind himself of all the reasons he didn't want this— _shouldn't_ want this—even as his body responded willingly to Sam's touch and made a liar of him on the spot. And god help the part of Dean that found it beautiful and lightning-bolt sexy, watching his brother in eyes-closed bliss so desperately and skillfully sucking him off.

_Fuck—_

Lust ripped through him like a scorching fire, burning its way from his groin straight up to his brain in uncountable seconds. It flared through him, sharp and bright.

And then he was coming, faster and harder than he'd ever come before, his hands buried in the thick softness of Sam's hair. _Sammy…_

Sam swallowed greedily around him, his fingers bruising the back of Dean's thighs as he drank him in like—

Like a drug.

_Oh, god._

Dean's stomach turned over, and his climax aborted instantly like a switch turning off. His mind reeled in a cloud of questions.

Sam pulled off noisily, leaning his face against Dean's thigh and gasping in relief. "God, that was good," he said, his breath sending a breeze across Dean's still-damp skin.

Dean just stood there, eyes stinging and body trembling less with the aftershock than with something close to panic. Sam brushed a hand absently over Dean's hip, and Dean backed away jerkily until he ran up against the wall.

"Dean." Sam was looking up at him. " _Dean._ What's gotten _into_ you?" Like Sam hadn’t just destroyed the fine balance they'd negotiated all these weeks.

"You're going to wind up hating me because of this," Dean said, the words bitter in his mouth, choking him until he could hardly breathe. "And then you'll leave," he finished sadly. He could already feel the hole forming inside him.

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to leave you. Even if I _wanted_ to, I couldn't. You _know_ that."

And then words rose up out of Dean's memory, words spoken by so many people over the years. They hadn't been careless this last time, he was suddenly sure of it:

_Be careful what you wish for…_

Gypsy-dark hair and possessive eyes swam in and out of his thoughts.

"I know who did this," he told Sam suddenly. "And I know where we have to go."

"Right now? Give me a second, Dean, at least." Sam leaned his head back wearily, his features pinched and tired-looking, his face only slightly less pale.

"Sure, Sammy. I'm sorry." Dean was torn with guilt, on the one hand for enjoying what Sam had done and on the other for rushing away from it in remorse when Sam so clearly didn't seem to have any regrets.

"You mad at me, Dean?" Sam suddenly looked worried.

"No, Sammy, of course not." Dean got down on the floor next to him and pulled him close, bringing Sam's head to lie against his shoulder. "You know I'm not."

He kissed Sam gently and completely, tasting himself on Sam's lips.

After the second, kiss, Sam finally smiled.

*

Natalie didn't seem surprised to see Dean when they got back to Lafayette. The anger glittering in her eyes made her seem stronger than he remembered, though the curse had shown that already.

"Did you miss me?" she said as soon as they were within earshot. The words were like a punishment for something, but damned if Dean knew what.

"Cut the crap," Dean said. "Why'd you do it?"

"Like you didn't have it coming. You probably tell yourself it's always the other person's fault." Clearly, she was still angry. "You just take what you want, and then throw it away," she continued. "The best cure for that is to get the one thing you really want, 'cause it never quite comes out the way you expected. Forcing it by magic has a tendency to turn it sour."

"Why'd you pick my brother?"

"I didn't," she countered. "I cast the curse, and how it works reveals itself. That's the beauty of it—it comes from inside you, what you want. I don't even have to know what it is."

"You heartless bitch!" Dean stepped forward, the need for revenge driving everything his father had ever told him about how to treat women right out of his head. Sam's hand on his arm held him back.

"Just remove the curse," Sam said softly, avoiding Dean's eyes. His voice seemed sad in a way Dean couldn't fathom. "That's why we came."

"Fair enough," the woman conceded.

It took scarcely a minute for her to finish the incantation. When she was done, Sam bolted to the car without looking back.

*

"You okay?" Dean asked, his stomach clenched in knots again. Tears were spilling down Sam's cheeks, just like everything Dean had been afraid would happen once the curse was finally gone.

"I'm not upset about anything we did, if that's what you mean." Sam's voice was raw, and Dean wondered whether it was anger or something else fueling that sound.

"Are you mad at me, for getting us into this?" Dean asked hesitantly.

"What? No! And stop the car before you kill us both. There's a road up there ahead."

Dean pulled off the main highway and turned off the ignition. "Tell me, Sammy." He spoke so softly he could hardly hear himself talking.

"Do you hate me now, Dean?"

"No, Sammy, of course not. It wasn't your fault!"

"But I spent the last month practically mauling you, and you never complained."

Dean scooted closer, looking earnestly into Sam's eyes. "I'd do anything for you Sammy, you know that." He patted Sam's arm.

"I know," Sam answered bleakly. "The problem is, you _did._ I asked for things you never would have given me otherwise, and you were sweet to me the whole time."

_Because that was the happiest I can ever remember being,_ Dean thought. But what he said was just "You're my brother, Sammy," and what it meant was _You're everything_ , because Dean finally had to admit to himself that it was true.

"I know." Sam's voice was strained. "It's just that I liked being more than that. I'm not ready for it to be over."

"I—" Dean started, but the only thought in his head was _Me either_ and he couldn't say that, couldn't bind them both with those words.

"Are you sure the curse is gone?" Sam asked. "I mean, I don't feel desperate now the way I used to, but I still want you." His eyes burned with all the same longing that ached inside of Dean.

Dean coughed, hope threatening to choke him, his face probably giving too much away. "I'm sure that'll pass…" he said softly.

"I don't think so," Sam answered, moving closer with sudden confidence, like he just _knew_. "Because I want all the parts you've been holding out on too." His eyes swept down the length of Dean's body, his desire so vivid Dean could taste it at the back of his own throat.

"Sammy—" he said desperately, "we can't, you know we can't." He searched Sam's eyes for a hint of understanding. "And I've tried so hard all these weeks not to give in…"

"I know."

Sam brushed his hand over Dean's face, letting it come to rest at the back of his neck. He rested his cheek against Dean's forehead. "But it's time to stop fighting what we know we both want."

Dean thought about Sam's lips on his, so warm and sweet and so infinitely tender. He thought about losing that forever, about going back to the loneliness of bars and empty conquests that never quite reached his soul.

"Let go," Sam whispered against his mouth. He held Dean close in reassurance and stroked the back of his hair, just waiting for him to bend to the truth and make up his mind.

And like the tallest of trees beginning its long fall toward the ground, Dean finally, finally did.

His kiss was surrender and a promise all in one…

 

 

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